A Princess for Christmas
by wordsofawitheringwriter
Summary: It's the first Christmas since college student Clarke Griffin's dad passed away, and her mother is dead-set on pulling off the perfect Christmas regardless. However, to pull off said "perfect" Christmas, Clarke finds herself trapped in a lie and is forced to ask her scrooge-like, bar-tending co-worker, Bellamy Blake, home for the holidays- posing as her fake boyfriend. Bellarke.
1. Deck The Halls (but fuck the tinsel)

**A/N: I needed a little something to help get me into the holiday mood, and I was missing a little bellarke in my life. Hope you guys enjoy, and happy 21 days until Christmas**

**Summary: It's the first Christmas since college student Clarke Griffin's dad passed away, and her mother is dead-set on having the perfect Christmas regardless. However, to pull off said "perfect" Christmas, Clarke finds herself trapped in a lie and is forced to bring her scrooge-like, bar-tending co-worker, Bellamy Blake, home for the holidays as her fake boyfriend.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, but a girl can dream (or ask Santa).**

**[*edited 2/16/16]**

* * *

The neon sign out front flickered in the window as the young man flipped the switch, signaling that not only was the bar now closed, but that it was damn early into the morning.

Bellamy couldn't help but chuckle as he turned his head, his eyes easily finding his co-worker in the otherwise empty room. "Your eight a.m. is gonna suck," he called out to her as she was busy scrubbing the sticky table tops that were sloshed with beer, and a smirk pulled at his lips as he slipped back to his place behind the bar.

She rolled her eyes at his teasing, groaning when he realized that he was actually right, the bastard. "I can't even argue that because it's true."

Her shoulders drooped as she frowned at the remnants of the complimentary peanuts that littered the floor and lime slices that had been squeezed of all their juice. It was yet another job for her to complete before she was able to clock out.

"Ah, relax. It's not so bad, Princess," her nose wrinkled at the unwelcome nickname, "at least it's Christmas." His tone was mocking as he gestured to the cheesy, over-the-top décor that their boss had insisted upon as soon as the first of December had hit the Washington D.C. area.

"It makes people feel more depressed about what they don't have, which means they drink more." Their boss, Kane, had explained to them when they asked about the excessive use of green and red that offset the cheap golden snowflakes dangling from the ceiling. "And drinking more means they spend more time in my bar, providing the money to pay your paychecks, so stop complaining and use more tinsel."

Kane had thought himself brilliant. Meanwhile, both Clarke and Bellamy cursed the older man's name to the North Pole and back whenever they were stuck cleaning up the flaking material. Not to mention whenever they left the bar they were covered in glitter.

However, Bellamy's mocking backfired as Clarke leaned against the broom in her hands, her eyes taking in the twinkling lights framing the windows held their by scotch tape.

"Yeah," she sighed, gripping the wooden handle tightly as she gave the lights one last lingering look before returning to sweeping. "I guess you're right. The decorations might be a bitch to pick up after, but you can't be upset this close to Christmas time."

"The fuck I can't," came his grumbled reply before he slammed on the shot glasses on the counter in frustration. "The damn tinsel keeps flaking off into the glasses that I have to clean!"

"Don't be such a Grinch, Bellamy." Now it was Clarke's turn to tease, and the man's scowl in her direction only egged her on.

"Whatever," he rolled his eyes. "It's not like you're some poster child for the holiday. Do you even have a tree up in your dorm?"

She scoffed, sweeping the shells and lime remains into the broom pan. "As if I have the time, or the room for that matter." Clarke stood, brushing loose hair away from her face as she dumped the pan's contents into the nearest trashcan-only half full too, which meant she could wait until tomorrow before having to take it out to the dumpster out back.

As she returned the broom to the little storage closet in the back, she thought of Bellamy's comment about the holidays. It was true, Christmas time had the potential to be a little juvenile and, frankly, downright annoying when handled by those who took it to the extreme-such as her mother, for example-but Clarke didn't find the holiday unbearable.

She herself was guilty of curling up with a mug of hot chocolate shaped like a snowman, stirring the drink with a candycane while binge-watching cheesy, cringe worthy Hallmark movies that began the day after Thanksgiving.

Bellamy, on the other hand, might as well be named official King of the Scrooges.

Clarke had made the interesting discovery not long after the decorations had been put into place, and she found him especially Scrooge-like whenever Jingle Bells played over the speakers.

When she returned from the back, Bellamy was busying himself with drying the various-sized glasses that he had served throughout the night. He was so hung up on bartending, and frankly, the blonde couldn't figure out why. While she was merely struggling getting through her sophomore year of college, he was coasting through his fourth year.

However, he seemed to care more about his alcohol concoctions than he did his homework.

Clarke plopped herself down on one of the stools in front of the counter, tightening her ponytail that had come loose over the course of the night. Bellamy eyed her carefully as she leaned over the bar and plucked a few of the recently washed glasses and set them down in front of her.

"You don't have to help me," he grumbled. "This isn't part of your job."

"I know," she shrugged, a sly grin appearing on her face. "Chalk it up to Christmas spirit."

He rolled his eyes, but tossed her outstretched hand one of the rags he kept behind the counter. "You're gonna regret this when you have to get up for class in the morning."

"It's three in the morning and my dorm is ten minutes away, and that's by cab," Clarke explained as she began trying one of the mugs, twirling the blue fabric along the brim on the glass. "On foot it's longer, obviously, but at night I can cut it down to about twenty minutes if I run the whole way."

His tone was dubious, "You run the whole twenty minutes?"

"You'd be surprised what adrenaline can do for you. Stranger Danger and all that jazz."

Bellamy raised a brow, failing to hide his amused smirk. "Stranger Danger?"

"Sounds better than 'kidnapped and forced into a human trafficking ring'. But whatever, my point is that it's already late. Staying an extra couple of minutes to help you won't affect my already shitty start to the school day.

"You're already deeming your morning shitty?"

"I have to get up in," Clarke drew out the word, frowning as she squinted to catch the time on the clock that hung on the wall behind Bellamy's head. She visibly deflated at what the skinny hands told her. "Four hours," she groaned, "so yeah, I think it's fair to prematurely deem my morning shitty."

Bellamy bit the inside of his cheek as he glanced at the few remaining glasses, scowling at the few flecks of sparkling tinsel that had fallen there, then looked to the girl in front of him.

He sighed, his mind made up as he reached over and retrieved the mugs she had taken.

"Come on," he told her before she could protest. "Grab our coats from the back room, would ya?" He saw the way she frowned, a small dip forming between her brows as she cocked her head at him.

He rolled his eyes at her confusion, patting down his pockets to locate his keys, which he then held up to dangle in the girl's face. "I'm driving you home."

She looked surprised. "You don't have to do this-"

"Shut up," he could have laughed at the affronted look on her face, but he settled instead for his usual cocky smirk. "'Chalk it up to Christmas spirit.'"

* * *

When her alarm went off roughly three and a half hours later, Clarke decided that she had been one hundred and ten percent in the right to prematurely deemed her morning shitty.

**Despite giving herself as extra hour than she normally would to sleep in, Clarke still found herself beyond exhausted as she went through her usual morning routine in a zombie-like state. She could hardly look at herself in the bathroom mirror, and the bright lighting was only partly to blame. Her hair was tangled and matted from the ponytail that she had slept in, and the dark circles under her eyes might as well have been bruises.  
**

In fact, she was so tired that she nearly fell asleep standing up as she went through the mundane process of simply brushing her teeth.

It was December, so obviously it was a stupid idea to go outside with wet hair, but Clarke found that there wasn't much else she could do with her sorry excuse of blonde locks. The girl wasn't usually one to arrive to class in an oversized shirt and sweatpants, but today she decided that her professors would just have to deal with her lack of professionalism, seeing as how it was either lazy clothing or risk running late to class.

As she ran through her dorm trying to shove all of her books and laptop and anything else she would need into her backpack, Clarke wondered for the millionth time why she even put up with the damn bar.

Her mother knew she was working part-time to help pay her way through school, but Abigail Griffin had no idea that her precious daughter was working the night shift at a bar in the middle of town. Clarke was fairly certain her father was rolling over in his grave at the very idea. But, at the end of the day, it was the only place that was hiring, and it paid decently enough.

Though not enough to put up with this shit, she thought irritably to herself as she pulled on a sweatshirt and prayed to the Heavens above that it wasn't snowing today. She could deal with wet hair, but frozen hair would be a deal breaker.

One quick glance at the alarm clock by her bed had Clarke forgetting about the cold as she saw that she was about to be late regardless of all the things she'd skipped in her morning routine.

"Damn damn damn," she muttered, shutting off the light and slamming the door behind her as she took off in a sprint down the hall.

A very, very shitty morning indeed.

* * *

Actually, scratch that, it wasn't just a shitty morning.

It was a shitty day.

The only upside had been when Miller, a friend of Bellamy's that had the same eight a.m. as Clarke, unexpectedly handed her a steaming, Styrofoam cup filled with coffee.

"Bell texted me this morning, told me he thought you might need this." The boy had yawned before stuffing his hand into his sweatshirt pocket and pulling out a few containers of creamer and a couple packets of sugar. "He didn't tell me how you took your coffee though, so I grabbed a few of these when I got my own."

"Thanks," Clarke had said, still surprised, and a little shocked, that Bellamy had done this for her.

"No problem," Miller had waved off her thanks, rubbing his eyes as he too was still trying to wake up. "He said something about Christmas spirit, but I'm pretty sure he was just being a smartass."

That had made Clarke grin. "No doubt."

But the thrill of free coffee had soon been overshadowed by the fact that their professor apparently didn't care that it was the last week before the end of the semester. Their final grade wasn't going to be a test or oral exam, as the rest of her professors were doing. Oral exams she could handle, tests she could study for, but no. Their final grade was going to rely on a paper about, "the true meaning of Christmas."

"The fuck?" she heard Miller complain to a guy named Murphy after class as they were walking out. "Who the hell does she think we are-third graders?"

Frankly, Clark had to agree. It was a juvenile and cliche topic, though she figured it'd be easy enough to bullshit her way through in the end.

Raven was going to laugh her ass off when she heard about it, and seeing as how Clarke and Finn were on speaking terms again-though only just-he may even offer a sympathetic wince.

Though, she hoped that when she got the chance to see Finn again she wouldn't be dressed in an oversized shirt and sweatpants. No girl ever wants her ex to see her look anything less than grade-A.

Which, thinking about Finn only set her mood down another two notches below where it already was. When she had first informed her mother about the split-leaving out the part about Finn cheating-her mother had been beside herself with worry over her daughter.

Clarke had taken the news hard, sure, and there had been a couple nights at the bar where she had downed a few of Bellamy's experimental concoctions as she cried into the growing number of shot glasses. Bellamy had seemed concerned but didn't pry, though he did cut her off completely when she finally came clean.

"Drinking isn't going to help you get over him," he had warned, "and drinking away your problems is a bad habit to get into. Trust me."

Clarke had never asked about the "trust me" part of his statement, but she had to admit she was curious.

Now, as she stepped out of the lecture hall and into fresh air, her mood darkened. Not only was it raining, but Finn was coming up the stairs just as she was going down them.

And any hope that she had of sneaking by him were diminished when he caught her eye and waved.

A very, very shitty day, indeed.

* * *

The rest of her classes had gone smooth enough, and one teacher was even so kind as to actually email her students a bullet-point list of everything her final would cover.

Though, that was unfortunately the only highlight of Clarke's day.

Besides the coffee, of course.

Later, when she was finally able to take a breath as she returned to her dorm room, her cell went off from somewhere in the depths of her backpack.

Clarke could have cried. All she wanted was to shed her wet clothes-she hadn't known of the rainy forecast, thus consequently was soaked on her walk back from her last class-and get in a few hours sleep before she was due back at work.

She slumped off her backpack, not caring when it went crashing to the floor. Though she was sluggish in her movements, she was still able to locate her phone before the call was sent to voicemail. However, when Clarke saw it was her mother calling, she debated canceling the call anyway.

Clarke loved her mother, but she wasn't in the mood for a half-hour long conversation about nothing.

Her guilt gnawed away at her conscious long enough in the end to where she found herself pressing the "accept" button.

"Hi, mom." The girl grinned into the phone, hoping she sounded more excited than she felt. Her eyes shifted as she gazed longingly at her unmade bed that was practically begging for her to jump in and stay for a while.

"Sweetie!" At the sound of her mother's voice, it felt like some of the weight had been lifted from the girl's shoulders. It really had been a while since their last phone call. "I won't hold you for too long," the blonde rolled her eyes knowingly at the cell phone, seeing as how that's what she always said before Clarke was stuck on the phone for an hour. "But I was calling to make sure you're still coming home for your break."

"Yeah, mom. Wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Good good. I needed to know so that I could start getting things ready around the house, but I won't get the tree until you get here, of course. Also, you prefer ham for Christmas, right? Not turkey? Of course not turkey, you always say you're too sick of it from Thanksgi-"

"Mom," she cut off her mother's rambling. "Honestly, you don't have to do all this. I know you're busy at the hospital right now and-"

"Oh, hush, Clarke. Let me have my fun. Besides, the Jaha's are visiting considering, well," Abby's voice began to fade, and Clarke knew it wasn't due to poor connection.

"Yeah, mom." Clarke gave into temptation and sat down on the edge of her bed, her hand stroking her comforter. "I know."

"Well, I didn't call to upset you before work," her mother bristled, shifting into her doctor's voice as she berated herself. "I'll keep this short."

"You're fine, my shift doesn't start for another two hours." As she said this, however, her head fell against the pillows. Her shift may not start for a few hours, but Clarke wasn't sure how long she could keep her eyes open.

"Well, yours might not, but I'm due to the hospital in a half hour. In fact, I'm on my way out the door right now."

Clarke stiffened. "You're not driving, are you?"

Abby sighed, "Honestly, Clarke. After what's happened to this family, do you really think I would be on my phone behind the wheel right now?"

"No," her voice became small. "I'm sorry."

"Well, anyway," her mother's tone softened as she changed the subject. "Are you bringing anyone home for the holidays?"

"No," Clarke shrugged, before remembering her mother couldn't see her. "Not really."

"Oh." Did her mother sound disappointed? "What about that nice coworker of yours that you said you were dating?"

Shit, Clarke's eyes widened dramatically. Shit, shit, shit.

She'd forgotten all about lying to her mother about dating Bellamy, and the only reason she had said something so stupid was because when she first shared with her mother about Finn, Abby had been torn up over the idea that her daughter had been drastically affected by the end of that relationship.

And, frankly, Clarke had been torn up, but she'd crossed that bridge.

Abby, on the other hand, was insistent on burning the damn bridge to the ground.

"Uh, y-yeah," she stuttered as she pulled self-consciously on her hair while racking her brain. "It must have slipped my mind, what with finals and all." Clarke laughed nervously, hoping her nerves weren't as painfully obvious over the phone. "I'm not sure if Bellamy can make it. I haven't asked yet."

"Well ask, Clarke! It's rude to wait until the last minute. You said you have work in two hours?"

"Yes ma'am." Clarke confirmed, grimacing. She already knew where her mother was going with this.

"Then I expect a call in three. And that call better include whether or not I'm setting an extra place at the dinner table. Understood?"

"Loud and clear, mother. Loud and clear."

Abby let her go soon after that, explaining that she really needed to begin leaving for the hospital.

Frustrated, Clarke dropped the phone beside her and stuffed her face into the pillow, wanting to scream at the very idea of having to ask Bellamy Blake to come home with her for Christmas.

A shitty, shitty existence, indeed.

* * *

**Second chapter coming soon! **


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm so happy you guys enjoyed the first chapter! Hopefully you'll enjoy this one too(:**

**Lots of love to those of you who reviewed, and to any of you who are reading this right now! I hope you like what you see!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

* * *

"Absolutely not."

"Bellamy, _please_." At this point Clarke wasn't entirely against the idea of getting down on her knees and begging, actually begging, seeing as how she had only a few days left to figure out her predicament. Bellamy only offered an exasperated eye roll as he ducked behind the counter and pulled out two baskets of peanuts.

"We're co-workers, not friends. Tables two and four are almost out," he said, changing the subject while sliding the peanuts towards the pleading blonde. All around them the bar was in full swing, filled with college kids and locals who were bracing themselves for the impending doom- otherwise referred to as returning home for the holidays.

Clarke wanted to throw the peanuts at the smug face in front of her, but figured that would do little to help her situation. Besides, she _did_ have a job to do, even if it was as boring as delivering peanuts to drunk frat boys who- sometimes- didn't know how to keep their hands to themselves.

"Fine," she huffed, blowing the loose hair from her ponytail out of her eyes as she gripped the colorful baskets. Before turning to leave, she leaned in close to the young man as he matched her steady gaze. "But this conversation isn't over."

"Sure about that?" He asked, as he pulled three shot glasses from the shelf beneath the counter, reaching behind him to uncap a glass bottle filled with an amber liquid that long since lost it's label. "Because I can assure you, it is."

Clarke rolled her eyes as she walked away, for a moment happy to be able to put some distance between herself and her obnoxious "co-worker". As she walked away, however, and reevaluated the situation outside of just a regular argument with Bellamy, she winced. She knew it wasn't his fault that he didn't want to go. Hell, it was stupid and selfish of her to ever think she could possibly pull it off in the first place. Besides, Clarke knew he had a sister, and he was probably already planning on spending the holiday with her. And, more importantly, he was right. They weren't really friends, just two people who occasionally got along while working the same shifts. Why would he do her a favor?

As she shuffled her way through the crowd, lost in thought, someone's beer sloshed onto her top at the same time a girl pushed back her chair and clipped Clarke's hip.

"Damn it," Clarke hissed through her teeth, ignoring the drunk girl's stuttering apology and instead glaring at the guy who couldn't care less that he was now responsible for making her smell like a brewery. As she made a beeline to tables two and four, she peeked over her shoulder to see if Bellamy had just seen that embarrassing exchange, but he wasn't there.

Clarke sighed, cheeks burning despite herself when the drunken party of twelve at the table she was standing beside began to make comments about her wet t-shirt.

"Screw off," she mumbled under her breath, wishing she weren't on the clock so she could really cut into the guys. She recognized one from her calculus class, Murphy, and made a mental note to rip into him when she wasn't working and he was sober enough to remember it.

As she turned to take the drink orders from a table on the opposite side of the place, she yelped when she ran smack into someone's back- her forehead colliding with the stranger's shoulder.

"Mmm," she groaned, tired and sore, now adding a headache to the growing list of things that also included a beer-stained shirt. "I'm so sorry," she sighed, her hand pressed tightly to the bruise that would no doubt appear by morning. "I wasn't watching where I was-"

"Clarke?"

Her breath caught in her throat. Without having to look, she knew that voice. She knew _his_ voice, knew it all too well, really. It was the same voice that she'd spent a year and a half with, and been the first to say, "I love you."

"Finn," she breathed, slowly sliding her gaze from the floor. Her eyes traveled up from the dirty Vans to the ripped jeans, wincing when they came across the sweater she recognized from his birthday; a gift- an _expensive_ gift- from her. Her eyes finally settled on his face, and her heart began to hurt with every beat. "Hey."

A beat, then one more, before he grinned. "Hey."

* * *

Bellamy shut the door to the break room behind him, closing his eyes for a moment as he relished in the dramatic change of noise level. He loved the bar and the way the place practically buzzed with energy some nights, but damn if the holiday season didn't take a toll on him. The sound of Christmas bells rang in his ears from having to listen to Jingle Bells all evening, and the sight of red and green made him want to puke. He had no idea how he was going to survive Ugly Sweater night, and made a note to demand a pay raise from that sonofabitch Kane.

Luckily, he and Clarke had been spared from having to decorate the break room- thank God. It was the one refuge in this place that didn't look like Santa had thrown up glitter and tinsel.

Plopping himself down on the couch against the far wall, Bellamy pulled out his phone. He felt kind of bad about leaving Clarke to fend for herself out on the main floor, but she was tough enough to handle the crowd without him.

For a few minutes, anyway.

Unlocking the phone, Bellamy's eye flitted to the time at the top of the screen. He figured he had about ten minutes to spare before Clarke would come looking for him, so he didn't waste any time. Tapping on his contact list, he was quick to come across his sister's name and press 'call'.

As he brought the ringing phone to his ear, he glanced to the door. He wasn't worried about Clarke ratting him out to Kane for making a personal call, but still, he didn't want to leave her to fend for herself for too long. Bellamy knew how pushy a drunken crowd could get, and while Clarke was capable of handling herself just fine, he also knew how easily stressed the blonde was.

It was more so for the sake of the customers that he wouldn't take long. He figured he'd spare them from having to face the wrath of a high-strung, underpaid Clarke Griffin. _Especially_ a sleep deprived one, as Bellamy had come to find out on occasion.

"Hello?" Luckily, she had picked up on the third ring.

"Hey, O," he said, finally allowing himself to relax into the sofa. His body begged for him to sleep after staying up all night, but he pushed aside his drowsiness. With Octavia attending school on the west coast, and Bellamy stuck on the east coast, it was hard to find time aligning schedules when there was a four hour time difference.

She knew this, and took no time launching into everything she'd been up to, wasting not even the slightest detail no matter how small. Bellamy hummed his approval in the appropriate places and took comfort in the fact that she sounded happy.

He'd hated letting her go, especially after their mother's passing only a few years ago, but he knew he hadn't had a choice in the matter. It was basically an unspoken ultimatum given by his sister: offer his support in allowing her to attend a school across the country, or runaway and attend the school regardless.

She'd promised it was nothing personal, wanting to leave, and reassured him countless times that she was thankful for him practically raising her, even when he should've still been in the process of being raised himself.

Some part of Bellamy had always known Octavia wouldn't stay close to home. Ever since he could remember, his baby sister had complained about feeling stuck in their small home town, feeling as if she were "trapped" in a place where she felt as though she couldn't breathe.

He still didn't like the idea of her going so far away, but, frankly, Bellamy agreed with his sister.

She was far too good for this town.

"So," Octavia took a break from recounting a funny story that had happened during her anatomy class. "What are your Christmas plans?"

Bellamy hadn't been saying much to begin with, but now he had clammed up completely.

"Oh my God," came his sister's voice, sounding as if she already guessed. "You don't have anything planned."

He sighed, "O, it isn't like that-"

"Bell," her voice was gentle, and he knew what was coming. "You know I'd be there if I could."

"Yeah," he allowed a small grin. "Yeah, I know you would."

"But, I can't." Octavia paused to take a deep breath, which was a tale-tell sign she was about to go on a rant. "I can't, because we can't afford the airfare, which yeah, it sucks but that is no excuse for you to spend the holiday by yourself. I'm not going to have a good Christmas knowing my big brother is all by himself a million miles away probably brooding in the dark while making some stupid new kind of drink with-"

Bellamy chuckled, "Slow your roll, O. You're starting to sound like Clarke."

"Clarke?" That peaked her interest, but Bellamy didn't really know why. "You've not talked about her in a while." He did his best to ignore the fact that he could practically _hear_ her smirking. "What's she been up to?"

Bellamy snorted as he remembered what Clarke had asked of him at the beginning of their shifts. "Oh, she's been just fine." He laughed, rubbing his tired eyes. "Actually, you'll never believe this crazy idea she got in her head."

The young man recalled the story, telling his sister about the ridiculous idea of going home with the blonde for the holiday, posing as her fake boyfriend only to please her mother who was more distraught over her daughter's break up than her daughter was.

Octavia was silent once he'd finished, before completely surprising him when she said, "I think you should do it."

Bellamy's eyes shot open, "_What_? Go home with the Princess for Christmas? Why?"

"Aww," she teased. "See, you already have that nickname for her that you always use when you talk about her."

"I don't talk about her that often."

"But when you _do_, you usually call her princess."

"Give me one good reason why I should agree to such a ridiculous plan, O."

She went quiet again, as though carefully trying to think about the best way to phrase her answer.

"Because I can't come home," she said finally, her voice soft. "And because I love my brother, and I can't enjoy my break if I know he's all alone on the biggest day of the year."

"Octavia-"

"No, really Bell. You should go."

"That wasn't what I was going to say."

"So is that a yes to going home with Clarke?"

Bellamy pinched the bridge of his nose. "That wasn't exactly what I was going to say either."

"Then spit it out."

"What exactly are _you_ doing for break?"

She went completely silent on the other end of the call.

"Octavia." He said, his tone a warning.

"I uh," she swallowed, giggling nervously. "I didn't tell you? W-well, it's a funny story really."

Bellamy clicked his tongue. "Enlighten me, then."

"I'm, heh, _goinghomewithLincolntomeethisfamily_."

"You're _what_?"

* * *

Clarke sat at the bar, completely bored out of her mind as she cracked a peanut and disposed of the shell on the counter- where she had acquired quite an impressive pile that she'd have to clean up later. Taking the actual nut into her hand, she closed one eye and aimed carefully for the shot glass that she'd placed a few feet away.

"Damn," she huffed, reaching for another peanut when the one she'd thrown bounced off the rim.

The bar wasn't technically closed yet, but it might as well have been. The only remaining customers were some quiet introverts in the back corner who were taking advantage of the free wifi.

At the far, far end of the bar stood Bellamy with his back to her, absent-mindedly wiping down the counter. Though, Clarke knew something was bothering him because he'd been wiping the same place for seven solid minutes.

"Damn," she muttered again when the peanut missed, though this time she'd overshot completely.

"You know you're just gonna have to clean all those up." She was surprised when she heard Bellamy's voice, considering those were the first words he'd said to her since returning from his break earlier that night. He'd looked _pissed_ when she had caught glimpse of him returning from his break, and had frankly been too afraid to ask what the hell had happened.

"Yeah," she shrugged. "That's why if you join me in this riveting game of peanut pong, I'm gonna have to kick your ass."

He raised an eyebrow. "Peanut pong?"

"Yeah, ya know, like beer pong. But peanuts, and, well, no beer." She took another shot, and grinned when it finally made it, joining the three others that she'd already made. "It's okay if _I_ play because I'm already going to have to clean up anyway. If _you_ play, though. No, I refuse to clean up after you."

"I'm hurt, Princess." Sarcasm laced every word as he rolled his eyes, leaning against the counter as he watched her crack another peanut shell. He smirked when her nose wrinkled at the nickname.

Above them, the speakers that were playing from the local music station began to play the _Twelve Days of Christmas_, to which Clarke snorted at the sour look that appeared on Bellamy's face.

"What's with you?" She grinned, tossing another nut. "This song is a classic. You can't not like the 'and a partridge in a pear tree' line."

"One day I'm gonna find that tree and make a partridge pear pie."

"Okay, so maybe it _is_ possible to not like the line."

They were silent for a moment, before Clarke finally relented and slid the basket of peanuts his way. He tried hiding his grin by covering it up with a smirk, and Clarke pretended she was fooled by it.

Turned out that after a few rounds, Bellamy Blake loved peanut pong.

"Hey, listen," Clarke said as Bellamy replaced the now-filled shot glass with an empty one, preparing for a new round. She kept her eyes on the shot glass, and away from Bellamy's face, as she said, "I'm sorry for what I asked earlier."

She wasn't looking at him, but in her peripherals she noticed him purse his lips as he took aim.

"Clarke-"

"No, I mean it. My mom's been so wrapped up in this idea of a "perfect Christmas" since my dad d-" her voice caught, but she quickly caught herself and hoped he hadn't noticed. "What I'm trying to say is, I kind of let my mother's obsession drag me in too, and I completely disregarded the fact that you have a sister and no doubt want to spend Christmas with her and-"

"Don't worry about it," he cut her off, voice gruff. He kept his eyes trained on the basket of peanuts as he ignored her piercing, curious gaze. "Octavia isn't coming home," he grumbled. "Not for Christmas."

"Oh," Clarke's voice was small as she now played with her sleeve. "I'm sorry." She said, her tone a bit awkward as she wasn't really sure what to say. "I know that can't be easy."

"Yeah, well," the young man pursed his lips in a tight smile and gestured to the blonde. "Neither can being covered in sticky, warm beer and smelling like Guinness all night. But I guess we're both managing."

Clarke was silent for a moment, looking at him as if appraising his expression. "Asshole."

He winced, "Yeah," he sighed, agreeing. "I'm kind of an asshole. Come on," he motioned his head towards the break room door. "Follow me."

"But, what about the peanuts?"

"You can clean the damn peanuts up afterwards, Clarke, come on."

"What are we doing in the break room?" She asked once they'd made it, figuring it was safe to leave the introverts alone for a few minutes without worrying about them stealing anything from the bar. Bellamy walked over to his bag that he'd thrown beside the couch at the beginning of his shift.

It'd taken a little bit of rummaging around, hidden amongst loose papers and a few CD's, but he seemed to have found what he was looking for. He retrieved the black shirt with the _Grounders_ logo across the front, tossing it to the unsuspecting blonde.

"I'll go back to front and start cleaning up the peanut shells while you change." That was Bellamy's way of bidding farewell, apparently, Clarke realized as he began to walk out the door.

"Wait," she called after him, left standing in the middle of the room as she held his shirt in her hands, at a safe distance from her own soiled one. She caught his eyes as he turned. "Thanks, Bellamy."

"Yeah, well," he cleared his throat as he turned. "I'm doing us both a favor, really. Warm beer smells like shit."

"Ass," Clarke called after him not for the first time that night, but there was a smirk pulling at her lips as she said it.

"Yeah, yeah. Merry freakin' Christmas." He called from the other side of the now closed door. "Now hurry up and change so we can hide the evidence from peanut pong."

* * *

"So," Clarke yawned as she wrapped herself in her coat later, long after closing time as the two prepared to leave for their own beds. Clarke had her dorm, but Bellamy was a senior and also grew up in the area. He had a warm house that was calling his name. "If Octavia isn't coming home for the break, what are your plans?"

Bellamy kept his gaze away from her curious blue eyes as he zipped his own jacket up. He mumbled something, but Clarke didn't quite catch it, too busy wrapping her scarf around her neck and frowning when she got it too tight.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

Bellamy frowned as he switched off the lights, so that now the only light in the place was coming from the street lamps outside. "I said I don't have any plans."

Clarke was silent for a moment. "Oh," was all she said.

"Christmas isn't even a big deal to me anyway," he huffed, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he used his shoulder to open the door. Together they stepped out onto the sidewalk, Clarke pausing to lock the door behind them.

"Besides," Bellamy shrugged. "I'll probably spend the break catching up on some stuff. Ya know, school and maybe working on new drink ideas, and-"

"Bellamy," Clarke cut him off. "You're in school to work towards your degree, not to become a full time bartender."

He rolled his eyes, "Damn Princess, do you ever do anything but nag?"

She stiffened when the words left his mouth, and he noticed. "What?"

She swallowed, hard, and looked as though she were debating whether or not to tell him something.

"Well, spit it out." He said, retrieving his keys from his pockets as he waited.

"That's, um," Clarke cleared her throat. wincing. "That's vaguely along the lines of what Finn said to me earlier."

Now it was Bellamy's turn to stiffen, though he was much more subtle and it looked as though Clarke had missed it.

_Good thing, too,_ he thought to himself.

"Finn?" He asked, his tone neutral but brows furrowing. "When did you see Finn?"

"Earlier, when you went to the break room to call Octavia."

Bellamy frowned, "How did you-"

She rolled her eyes. "Honestly, it's what you do every time you disappear during a shift."

Bellamy wondered when she'd taken the time to learn that.

"Well," he said, turning his attention back towards his car as he motioned his head towards it. "What made Finn say something like that?"

Clarke groaned as she slid into the passenger seat, hiding her face in her hands as she apparently was remembering the whole ordeal.

"I did something stupid, Bellamy." She was speaking into her hands, so her words were a bit muffled, but he understood.

"And what was that?" He placed his key in the ignition and the car roared to life. He was quick to turn the heat on and make sure the seat warmers were on the highest setting.

"I asked Finn why he cheated."

"Shit, Clarke," he sighed, putting the car in drive, turning his head in search of oncoming traffic as he pulled away from the curb.

"I know," Clarke groaned again, taking his sigh as his apparent disapproval as she moved her hands to her lap. "It's just, I never got the chance to really ask him, you know? It was something I just never really wanted to talk about, and then tonight he was a little tipsy and this is gonna sound awful but-"

"But you figured he'd be more honest?" Bellamy turned his head to see Clarke nodding along to his words.

"Yeah," she breathed, looking at her hands in her lap. "But all the alcohol did was make him mean."

"Mean?" Bellamy's eyes immediately cut from the road to Clarke's forehead where he'd seen the light coloring of a bruise earlier, but hadn't thought to ask about it. Now, hearing Finn had become "mean" under the influence of alcohol, Bellamy gripped the steering wheel tighter.

"No, no!" Clarke insisted, noting how her words must have sounded. "I didn't mean anything like that!"

Bellamy cut his eyes from the road and over to the blonde, taking one last lingering look at the bruise before turning his attention back to the road.

"Then how the hell did you get that huge knot on your forehead?" He asked, voice dangerously low as he cut on his blinker.

"It _was_ from Finn, but it was my fault!" She quickly followed up when Bellamy had snapped his head in her direction. "I wasn't paying attention to where I was going and I smacked right into his shoulder." Clarke grinned weakly, "Should've seen the other guy, am I right?"

Bellamy rolled his eyes, "Klutz," he muttered.

"Ass." Was Clark's reply.

"That seems like it's becoming my my new nickname."

Clarke snorted, "Better than 'Princess'."

Bellamy feigned offense, "Honestly, now we're going for the cheap shots, huh?"

Clarke was silent for a few blocks after that, and soon they were pulling into the dorm building's parking lot.

Inside the car it was practically pitch black, only a tiny sliver of orange light from the street illuminated Clarke's face. All she could see of him was a faint outline.

"I really am sorry, ya know, for asking such a stupid question earlier." Her voice was soft, but she tried finding Bellamy's eyes in the dark. "And I'm even more sorry for being mad when you said no."

"Clarke-"

"No, honestly." She bit her lip, tapping her finger against her jeans in thought. She opened her mouth to say something, but Jingle Bells suddenly came to life somewhere in the car.

Bellamy smacked the button on his dash to turn off the radio, but it wasn't coming from his speakers.

"God, make it stop." He groaned, pushing the button again, repeatedly.

Clarke grinned sheepishly when she pulled her phone from her pocket.

"Traitor," Bellamy huffed, rolling his eyes as Clarke glanced at the name illuminated across the screen.

Her eyes widened, "Shit_. Shit shit shit_."

Bellamy was about to ask her what the hell was going on, when she answered.

"Hey, mom."

Oh.

"It's pretty late for you to still be up." Clarke frowned as she spoke to her mother, wincing apologetically to Bellamy. He waved her off, though didn't mention that her sound was way up and he could hear the conversation clearly.

"Tell me about it," her mother stressed over the phone. "But I've been trying out different Christmas cookie recipes and I just can't seem to get the damn things right. Also, I was just about to order the turkey and ham-"

"You're ordering the turkey," Clarke repeated in disbelief. "At," she squinted at the time on Bellamy's dash. "2 am?"

"I never have time during the day!" Her mother sounded exasperated, "Besides, it won't get here until the day before Christmas Eve. If I wait any longer we may be eating only sides for dinner!"

"Mom-"

"Oh, and while we we're on the topic of turkey that's what I was meaning to call you about. Does Bellamy prefer light meat or dark?"

Clarke's eyes widened, almost comically, as she turned to Bellamy.

"Uhh, about that, mom." She seemed to visibly deflate, as she winced at the idea of coming clean to her mother. "Bellamy isn't-"

Clarke yelped when he suddenly snatched the phone from her hand, placing it to his own ear.

"-isn't a huge fan of turkey to begin with, so don't worry about me, Mrs. Griffin. I'll most definitely help put that ham away though." Clarke's brows furrowed as, in the dark, she mouthed to the man asking what the hell he was doing.

"Oh," Abby Griffin sounded a bit startled on the other end. "And is this, is this Bellamy?"

"Yes, ma'am, and I can't wait to meet you when Clarke and I come down to visit in a few days."

"Well, I uh," Abby sounded as if she were smiling, although maybe just the slightest bit flustered. "Well, I have to say I'm looking forward to meeting you too. I'm sorry, I didn't know I was interrupting anything. I'll let you two go."

"Mother!" Clarke snapped, hoping she was very wrong in what her mother's comment was suggesting.

"Goodbye, Mrs. Griffin." Bellamy hung up only after making sure the call was ended, and handed the phone back to it's astonished owner.

"Bellamy," Clarke said slowly, "What the hell have you done?"

"I'm not really sure, to be honest," and truly, Bellamy looked just as confused as Clarke. "But, I think, it looks like I'm taking you up on your offer."

* * *

**[Lolol embarrassingly enough I stole one of these lines from a disney show christmas special that came on tv while I was babysitting my brother last night. Props to anyone who recognizes it.] Hope you guys liked this chapter! **

**Please review! Until next time, happy december! **


	3. Chapter 3

**Okay, before I begin there are a few things I want to mention that you guys (hopefully) read before continuing. **

**1\. I promise I'm not intentionally bashing Finn in this story. I know it may seem like that at times, but I'm really not meaning to. I love that dumb spacewalker, despite what season 2 has turned him into**

**2\. It's come to my attention that there are already a few fics along the same story lines as this one, and to that I just wanted to say, THAT I AM SO SORRY I DIDN'T REALIZE IT WHEN I BEGAN WRITING I JUST GOT CAUGHT UP WATCHING A LOT OF ABC FAMILY CHRISTMAS MOVIES AND 3/4 OF THE MOVIES HAD THE FAKE DATE PLOT AND I LIKED IT A LOT I'M REALLY SORRY PLEASE DON'T HATE ME**

**ok, and on that note...**

**[EDIT: YOU GUYS I had no idea so many of you wanted me to continue! When I saw your responses I hurried and finished this chapter as thanks for letting me know how you guys feel! Hopefully another soon to follow in the next week... as for now, I hope you all enjoy! ((idk why i'm using so many exclamation points rn))]**

**disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Bellamy let out a low whistle as he pulled into the driveway that was at the end of the Google Maps directions Clarke had printed out the night before. "For Christ's sake," he muttered, leaning forward over the steering wheel to get a better look at the old, Victorian-style house that, oddly enough, suited Clarke.

Said girl grimaced in the passenger seat, blushing. "It's not much, but it's home." She fumbled with her seatbelt before finally managing to undo it, and scooted out of the car before he could reply. She hurried around to the trunk leaving Bellamy in the driver's seat, flustered.

"Not much?" He repeated, squinting at the mammoth house in front of him. "The fuck?" He huffed, noting how well the combined paychecks of a doctor and engineer apparently paid off. Bellamy was seriously considering switching majors when Clarke suddenly appeared and tapped on his window.

"Coming?" She asked, her voice only slightly muffled through the glass.

Bellamy shook himself out of his shock, but still couldn't help himself from wondering just why the hell Clarke bothered working at a cheap bar when her parents were _loaded_.

He shut his car door behind him, running a hand through his hair before catching a glimpse of Clarke in the side mirror. He rushed around to the back of the car to help the struggling blonde unload the heavy suitcase.

"Don't worry about my stuff," he lifted his chin towards her own purple suitcase that was already on the ground. "I've got the rest of this handled. Go on in and catch up with your mo-"

"Clarke!"

He actually grinned, somewhat amused, when Clarke visibly cringed at the high-pitched voice that suddenly cut through the frigid air.

She sent him one last pleading look over her shoulder before turning to face the grinning, infamous Abby Griffin.

"Hey, mom," Clarke grinned as her mother pulled her into a hug. As Bellamy unloaded the few bags left in the trunk, he couldn't help but notice how tightly the mother had her arms wrapped around her daughter. He wondered if it was a similar feeling to being crushed, but Clarke was too distracted by the smell of gingerbread to take notice of the fact she couldn't breathe properly. Her mother really hadn't been lying about the cookie recipes, if her appearance was anything to go by.

"How was your trip down?" Abby asked, pulling away and giving Clarke a better view of her mother's frazzled appearance. The flour on her nose and the hints of dried batter along her cheeks made her look more like a baker than a surgeon. "You didn't have any trouble finding the place, I hope."

Without waiting for an answer, in true Abigail Griffin fashion, she turned towards Bellamy.

"You must be the young man I've heard so much about," her grin was friendly, though it still unsettled the man for some odd, strange reason that he really couldn't put his finger on. He wondered if the woman was usually this... cheerful.

"It's nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Griffin." He tried grinning, hoping it didn't look too much like the grimace it felt like when he stuck out his hand for her to shake. Abby regarded it carefully, tilting her head.

"I shake too many hands at work," she finally said, shifting her eyes up to meet his. "Besides, it's Christmas."

Bellamy turned as red as the material of a mall Santa's suit when Abby surprised him with a quick hug.

"Now, if you two _really_ want to we can catch up out here in 20 degree weather, _or_ we could move this little party inside where I have a nice fire going." [edit]

"We're right behind ya, mom." Clarke grinned again, chuckling nervously as her mother squeezed her daughter's elbow one more time before hurrying back into the warm house and out of the frigid December chill.

Bellamy smirked as he stacked the bags on top of each other, determined to make it all in one trip. "Your mom seems nice; I like her."

"Yeah," Clarke held her grin but the man noticed it looked a little forced now that her mother was gone. "Looks like she's already made it though the first batch of eggnog."

Bellamy blinked, momentarily stalling his movements as he frowned. "Clarke-"

"Oh," she cut him off, surprising him by turning to fully face him. She lowered her voice to a whisper even though it was just the two of them. "Whatever you do, _please_ don't mention the bar."

Bellamy raised his eyebrows at the odd request. "Really?" He asked, tone incredulous. "She doesn't know?"

"Don't judge me," she hissed, gripping the handle of her suitcase and wheeling towards the front steps.

The young man took one too many seconds staring at her retreating figure, blonde curls bouncing in the breeze as she hurried towards the front door.

"Dammit, Blake." He berated himself once he finally took notice of what he was doing, shaking his head as he closed the trunk and locked the car behind him. Grasping the handles of his own luggage, and the one or two of Clarke's that she'd left behind, he hurried to catch up.

* * *

Clarke attempted, in vain, to shield herself from the crisp breeze by wrapping her scarf more snug around her neck. Beside her, Bellamy shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, giving her a sour look as a few scattered snowflakes began to fall to the ground. Her eyes followed the ones that landed atop his head, melting soon after coming into contact with the out of place beanie he'd thrown on to cover his ears right before heading out the door.

They hadn't been home more than fifteen minutes before Abby was shooing them out of the house to go tree hunting. Hell, the two hadn't even managed to figure out an agreeable sleeping accommodations before they were being corralled to the same car they'd spent the past four hours in. Bellamy was still trying, in vain, to rub the crick out of his sore neck when a s sudden shriek came from a few rows over in the Christmas tree lot.

Two children suddenly appeared, cutting between some of the trees and hurrying passed the surprised pair. It was a young boy and a girl, who looked similar enough to be siblings. The little girl's face was as red as the toboggan on her little head as she chased after the boy, hot on his heels as some sort of revenge seemed to be sought.

Clarke wondered if they reminded Bellamy of himself and Octavia.

Over the speakers, a light-hearted rendition of, _That's Christmas to Me,_ began to play, to which Clarke pursed her lips, internally groaning. She knew how Bellamy felt about this sort of stuff. Christmas just wasn't his thing, and apparently the Holiday Spirits were determined to completely shit on Bellamy's scrooge-like tendencies.

Cautiously, she offered a sheepish grin.

"Hey, at least it isn't Jingle Bells."

Bellamy wrinkled his nose as his eyes followed the two kids weaving in and out through the rows of trees. "If you've heard one Christmas song, you've heard 'em all."

"Ah, I wouldn't go _that_ far," Clarke grinned as she took a step towards the front entrance of the tree lot. "_Angels We Have Heard On High_ is a _classic_."

Bellamy rolled his eyes as he followed just a step behind the blonde, his cheeks already growing pink and chapped from the cold. "I guess _Little Drummer Boy_ isn't so bad," he grumbled, though low enough that he wasn't even sure if Clarke heard him.

Which she so, _so_ did. Clarke was glad that her back was currently to him, so that was he couldn't see the grin that pulled at her lips.

They walked along in silence for a few moments, passing a handful of trees, and Bellamy was pleasantly surprised to find that the silence was a comfortable one. However, it took another two or three trees before he actually began to listen to the silence between them, and found that it wasn't actually silent at all.

Clarke was humming along to the song playing over the speakers.

It was a surprise to the young man, though not necessarily a bad one. He regarded the song carefully as he trailed behind, wondering if she even realized what she was doing.

Back at work, Clarke never hummed. Though, Bellamy granted, it was hard to be loose and happy enough to hum when you have a giant stick up your ass all day, everyday.

Only when she stopped, becoming too distracted in her search, did he speak up.

"So, this is what you consider fun?" He gestured to the surrounding trees with his hands still in his pockets. "Freezing your ass off and surrounded by screaming kids? For a _tree_?"

"A _Christmas_ tree," she corrected, though she sounded just the slightest bit distracted as she deemed the one she was looking at unworthy and continued on.

"Why not just buy a fake one?" He asked, finding himself becoming genuinely curious. His mother had never bought a real tree, and so the only one he and Octavia had ever had was a small, shrimp-sized tree that was only about two feet. It was more so just to be able to say they had one, really, instead of serving any real purpose. No presents could fit under it, but it had just enough room for his sister to fit the few ornaments they had from past school projects.

Like hell he was about to let Clarke know about it though.

The girl shrugged, as if even she didn't see the true appeal to a real tree. "My parents just always preferred real ones, and my dad used to say it was easier disposal once December 26th came around." A ghost of a smile pulled at her chapped lips, but Bellamy wasn't so sure it wasn't just a trick of the flickering fairy lights that were strung above their heads.

He knew her father was a sore topic, just as his mother was for him.

Bellamy changed subjects.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for the perfect tree, of course."

"Oh, my apologies. Only the best tree for the _princess_."

Clarke snorted. "Asshole."

"Hey," he decided to brave the cold just long enough to pull his hand from his pocket and hold up the small candy cane he'd been given at the front gate. "I may be an asshole," with his teeth, he managed to tear the candy from it's wrapper. "But at least I'm a _festive_ asshole."

She rolled her eyes, trying to downplay the grin that was threatening to show through what was supposed to be her annoyed expression. Normally, it was pretty easy to act pissy around the man because, well, he pissed her off. Clarke wasn't sure if it was the fact that they were away from the bar, or just plain Christmas spirit that was making Bellamy so tolerable.

Whatever it was, Clarke was actually kind of enjoying it.

"To answer your question more specifically, we're looking for a tree with mostly green branches."

"No dying pine needles," Bellamy swiped his tongue over the striped candy. "Got it."

"Also, you want to smell the tree to make sure it smells, well, like Christmas."

Bellamy bit a small chunk from the end of the treat, causing Clarke to wince at the cracking sound. "No smelly ass tree, check."

"And, most importantly," the blonde stopped at what was the perfect example of a _bad_ tree. Taking one of the dry tree limbs in her hand, she gently shook it and watched as several pine needles floated down and landed on her boots.

The man frowned at this request. "Don't all real trees shed, though?"

"Yeah, but a sprinkling of needles is fine. When it's a shower, _that's_ when it's a bitch to clean up after."

"Ugh," Bellamy grunted, sticking the candy cane under his tongue as he stuffed his freezing hands back into his pockets. "Turns out it doesn't matter what holiday it is, princess." He nudged her shoulder with his own as they continued on. "You're high maintace despite the season."

Clarke decided then that, had there been enough snow on the ground, she would have deemed it a fine time to throw a finely-packed snowball at Bellamy Blake's shit eating grin.

* * *

Chapter 4 on the way! Please review and let me know what you guys think(:


	4. Chapter 4

**a/n: it's the Christmas season again, which means I can finally dust off this fic and return to my beautiful bellarke babies and their grinchy christmas spirit3 thank you so much for the support for this story! Hopefully since I'm getting a headstart this year there can be more uploads! *crosses fingers* here's hoping. for the time being, please enjoy this little filler as i get back into the swing of things!**

**I hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving! now the countdown to Christmas can officially begin(; **

**disclaimer: i own nothing**

* * *

Abigail Griffin had a serious problem. One that Bellamy thought nothing but a good therapist and a ban of cooking utensils could fix.

She was a serial baker.

Bellamy eventually had to excuse himself from the Griffin household to escape the smothering smell of fresh-baked Christmas cookies that was mixing with the scent of pine needles.

The young man shuddered from both the chill as he stepped out on the porch and the memory of the Christmas tree that he and Clarke had hauled home. He was still swiping at his jeans every five minutes, unable to get the feeling of the sticky tree sap from his fingers.

Even after washing his hands a total of seven times, and risking forever smelling like _Iced White Pomegranate_ or _Snow Kissed Citrus_, he carefully pulled out his phone and prayed that his fingers wouldn't leave behind a sticky residue on the touchscreen.

He dialed the all-too familiar number and raised the cell to his ear, shifting his weight as the phone rang.

She picked up on the fifth ring, just as he was about to give up hope that she would answer.

"So," he could hear her grin, "how's Christmas at the Clarke residence? Any different from holidays at the Blake household?"

"Oh my God," Bellamy ran a hand down his face, keeping his voice low in case the windows weren't as private as they appeared. "You wouldn't believe it here, O. The whole house looks like it could be the set of a freakin' Hallmark movie."

"Does it look worthy of the Grinch's standards? Do they have a good security system to keep the green bastard out this holiday season?"

"You're hilarious," he replied, voice dry. "A real crack-up." Bellamy stretched his arm high over his head as he waited for his sister to finish patting herself on the back. He groaned when his back popped, having strained it when hauling the tree into the house earlier.

Octavia noticed, trying to hide the worry in her voice as she asked, "You okay, Bell?"

He was quick to reassure, informing her that while Christmas trees were fun to pick out, they were a real pain the ass to transport.

"Did my big brother just admit that something Christmas-related was _fun_?"

Shit.

"The eggnog is just beginning to get to me, is all. It was just a slip of the tongue."

"Is that the _only_ slip of the tongue going on?"

"Oh my God, O, grow up." Bellamy rolled his eyes while picturing his sister's smirk in his head, as she once again was no doubt priding herself on her "quick" wit. "Clarke is just a friend."

"Friend?" That seemed to pique the girl's interest. "Well, that's certainly a step-up from your usual 'strictly co-workers' bullshit you usually spout whenever she comes up. Tell me, is _Princess _anymore than just a snarky title yet? Would you go so far as to call it a," she faked gasp, "_nickname_?"

She was screwing with him.

Bellamy took a second too long to respond, however, and Octavia was eating it up.

"_Scandalous_."

* * *

The Jaha family that Bellamy had been hearing so much about weren't planning on showing up until the morning, so Abigail left the Bellamy and Clarke with the task od decorating the tree themselves while she slipped off to bed.

Clarke rolled her eyes at her mother's playful grin as she bid the two goodnight, calling over her shoulder for them to "behave" themselves.

Bellamy had been too busy wrestling with a knotted string of lights to pay attention to the woman's insinuations, which the blonde was grateful for.

"You don't have to help," she informed him once she was sure her mother was out of earshot, but was still keeping her voice low. "I know this whole Christmas thing isn't really your thing." She turned those big, brown eyes on him as she released him of light duty, gently taking the strand of knots from his hands.

"Clarke," he was tired of everyone treating him like the biggest scrooge since, well, _Scrooge_. "I don't mind-"

"No, really, Bellamy, you're already doing me a huge favor just by being here." She gestured around the room, but the man knew what she was implying. "I can't ask more of you. Go to bed, it was a long drive here. You've gotta be exhausted..."

While it as true, and Bellamy's body was aching for a soft bed to all but collapse in, he found himself standing his ground.

A common feeling whenever Clarke was involved.

Jesus. Was he really _that_ grouchy when it came to Christmas?

A quick reflection on his past comments and gestures and—he inwardly winced—yes, he was that bad.

He licked his lips as he stood there in thought, watching as the blonde stepped up on her tiptoes to tend to wrapping the lights around the tree. His eyes drifted from the girl's back to the stacked boxes of ornaments that waited to scatter flecks of glitter all over the floor and on Bellamy's clothes.

Then his eyes found themselves focused on the window where fresh snow was falling outside, and then back to the blonde, still on her tiptoes.

He made a decision then and there.

Clarke started at the sound of Christmas music that suddenly filled the silence of the living room. It was turned down low as to not disturb a slumbering Abigail Griffin, but there nonetheless.

The blonde looked over her shoulder, resting her aching calves for the meantime as she took a break from the lights to see a sheepish Bellamy Blake holding up his phone without really looking at her.

"I, uh, I meant it, Clarke," he said, clearing his throat as he tossed the phone onto the couch. He stepped forward, grabbing the string of lights from her. The light from the fireplace casted shadows on his face, illuminating features that the blonde had never taken the time to notice before.

Had he always had so many freckles?

Bellamy frowned when Clarke shook her head at something she didn't say aloud, but she relinquished her hold on the knotted string without much of a fight. She pressed the rest of the bundle of white lights into his chest before hurrying out of the room, saying something about grabbing cookies or whatever, leaving Bellamy behind staring after her with a dumb look on his face.

What did he just miss?

* * *

Clarke may be a little odd at times, but that was nothing Bellamy wasn't already used to of his normally eccentric co-worker.

As promised, she had returned not much later with a plate of Oreos—opting to ignore her mother's plethora of baked pastries, he'd noted silently—while balancing two glasses of milk in her other hand.

"_My dad always said Christmas cookies taste better with company,"_ had been her only half-assed explanation, but Bellamy decided to just roll with it, even though she was still avoiding looking him in the eye.

They took a short break from the tree, lights now successfully donned on the damn thing, and all that was left was the ornaments as an unfamiliar cover of _Silent Night _began to play from Bellamy's phone.

It was no doubt the first time he'd ever searched _Christmas Playlist_ on his _Spotify_ app, but he'd needed a way to convince Clarke that he wasn't a _total_ Grinch.

His mind flashed back to his earlier conversation with Octavia, and he couldn't help the small grin that found it's way onto his face, pulling lightly at the corner of his lips as he picked up another Oreo.

"What are grinning about?" Clarke asked him softly from where she sat beside on the floor, pulling him from his thoughts as she lightly nudged his shoulder with hers.

"Ah, nothing much," he said, turning his head to look at her as she too picked up another cookie. "Just something my sister said earli—whoa whoa whoa… whoa." He looked at her as if she were committing treason.

"_What_?"

"Don't tell me you're a _twister_."

It didn't take the girl long to figure out he was referring to the way she eats her Oreos. She eyeballed the boy beside her, her eyes sliding down to the cookie in his hand, noticing the glass of milk he held in the other.

"Don't tell me you're a _dunker_."

Bellamy dunked his cookie at the same time that Clarke twisted the top off of hers. She licked the icing, causing the young man to shudder.

"So wrong," he teased, grinning when Clarke's laugh filled the room around them.

She shoved his shoulder again, feeling herself begin to feel sentimental as the lights on the tree began to twinkle, and warmth of the fireplace that was popping and crackling was making her eyes feel even heavier than before. Outside, a passing car's headlights illuminated the room and all of it's decorations as it passed by.

"My dad used to eat Santa's cookies, you know," she said sleepily, as though she were letting the man in on a great secret.

Bellamy listened as though it really _was_ a great secret.

"When I was little, I snuck downstairs one year because I wanted to see him, Santa, ya know? But instead, I see my dad munching on the chocolate chip cookies that I'd helped my mom make while he watched a midnight showing of _A Christmas Story." _She got a faraway look in her eye as she recalled the story, a ghost of a smile on her lips. "I was devastated," she chuckled, shaking her head at her past self.

Bellamy found himself pursing his lips as his eyes fell on the plate of cookies. "Yeah," he said, voice low as though he was now letting her in on a secret of his own. "At my house, while Octavia was sleeping, I was the one eating Santa's cookies." He tilted his head, as though acknowledging something. "And ya know," he smirked, but this one seemed friendlier than the ones Clarke had received in the past. "Your dad was right."

"Right about what?" She asked, wanting the boy to elaborate as he paused, and when she looked over, his expression was softer than anything she thought Bellamy Blake was capable of.

It made her feel warm all over, him looking at her like that. Clarke wasn't really sure why, but she made a quick note to lay off of her mother's eggnog.

Bellamy shifted his weight, leaning forward to pluck another cookie from the plate. He held it up in the soft light of the fire, holding it up for the girl to get a good look at as he softly replied, "Christmas cookies taste better with company."

* * *

**How Many Days Until Christmas: 24  
**

**Until Next Time...**


	5. A Jolly Revelation

**...ROUND 2 OF THE HOLIDAY SEASON LETS GO LETS GO**

* * *

The first thing Bellamy noticed about the Jaha boy was that he was big.

The two men were close in height, sure, but Wells had obviously spent some of his free time during the semester in the gym, filling out, while the only thing Bellamy had been filling in his free time were shot glasses at the bar.

After quick introductions from Clarke—who had flung herself into Wells' arms in a huge bear hug the moment he and his father had crossed the threshold into the Griffins' house—Wells shook Bellamy's hand in a grip tight enough to leave a warning. Bellamy winced inwardly as he recognized it. It was the same type of handshake he'd given to any of Octavia's boyfriends in the past that she liked well enough to bring home.

Which wasn't many.

_So, Wells cared about Clarke_… Bellamy made a quick mental note of that. But it didn't seem like their relationship was a romantic one, so when Clarke informed him later that evening while doing the dishes that she and Wells used to date in high school, Bellamy nearly choked on the piece of fruitcake that he'd been snacking on while waiting to dry the dishes that Clarke was setting on the countertop.

Clarke had raised a brow at his strange reaction, thumping him on the back and leaving behind a damp, sudsy handprint on Bellamy's shirt.

"You okay?" she asked, shooting him a skeptical look while returning to the dishes. He only shook his head and tried to hide his shock.

"Fine, fine," he said, refusing to look her in the eye should it give him away. He glanced around her into the other room, where Abby was catching up with the father and son. "I just, I don't know. I didn't know he was your type."

Clarke raised a brow at that, failing to hide her smirk. "My type?"

Bellamy inwardly cursed, trying desperately to recover from his dumbass slip of the tongue. "I just, I mean... shit. Look at Finn. Certified Dumbass." He sat down his sliver of fruit cake—seriously, when did Abby find the time to make all these pastries?—and rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding her eye. "I just didn't think Wells fell under that category."

Clarke raised her brows in a way that seemed to say _suuuuure_, while Bellamy cleared his throat and picked up a dry towel to help with the dishes.

"So," he said, bumping her hip as he wiped away at a saucer lined with tiny snowmen. "What happened in high school?"

"Different interests," Clarke hummed. "Different schools. Life."

Bellamy raised a brow. "Pushy parents?"

Clarke snorted. "How'd you guess?"

"Between both of your parents being doctors and Jaha Sr. being a council man? Clarke," Bellamy clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and tutted. "Just because I work behind a bar every night doesn't make me dim." He pretended to feign offense until Clarke swatted at him with a damp dish towel.

"Knock it off," she laughed, failing to hide her grin when she was trying to sound serious. She turned her head to make sure their company was still entertained before whispering, "It wasn't exactly a mutual thing."

"Wells didn't want to end things?"

"He wasn't _against_ it," she said, then bit her lip before adding, "But, let's just say he was a little more... open to at least _trying_ the long-distance thing."

Bellamy lifted a brow. "And you weren't having any of it?"

Clarke avoided his eye completely now, positioning herself back in front of the sink and going to town on a wooden spoon that Abby had used that morning to stir the homemade icing.

"Any harder and you're gonna give yourself a splinter," Bellamy mumbled.

She was silent for so long that Bellamy had assumed she'd dropped the subject. He had gone about returning the dry silverware to the correct drawers when she spoke up again.

"Not that I could have ever seen it coming," she said softly, keeping her voice down to keep it from drifting to ears other than Bellamy's. "But when my dad died, it kind of made my decision to end things with Wells seem all the more sound. Things happen every day, ya know? Life is so short, so why would I want to spend the time I have apart from the person I love?"

Bellamy kept his response on the tip of his tongue; the mention of her dad had taken him by surprise. He took a step forward, leaning against the counter so that they were closer to being even in height. He stooped down a little, trying to catch her eye. "So, you were afraid that you would miss out. You and Wells going to different schools."

Clarke shook her head. "Yes and no. Forget it, you don't understand-"

"I don't understand?" he asked, cutting her off. His voice was kept low like hers, and it sounded like gravel now thanks to his near choking episode with the fruit cake."So my sister moving all the way across the country is different from your situation?"

She sighed, wincing. "I didn't mean-"

"Clarke," he reached out and put his hands over hers in the sink, not caring that he'd forgotten to roll up his sleeves and that they were now being soaked through with warm, soapy water. He had to get her attention off the dishes. He wanted her to look at him.

"Hey," he said softly, his hands folding around hers. They were nearly eye-level now, and he waited until she drew her gaze up to meet his. "I'm sorry I brought it up."

She caught his eye completely now, her cheeks becoming a light shade of pink. "I'm sorry about what I said... about your sister. I know it's not easy-"

"Don't worry about it, really." He leaned a little closer, feeling as though he were being pulled in by those brown eyes. Her lips were still wind-chapped from their excursion with the tree, but in Bellamy's mind, they were the same shade as the hollyberries that were scattered amongst the Griffin's decor. He shook his head at the comparison, getting pissed when he could hear his sister's teasing voice in his head saying _And the Grinch's heart grew three sizes that day._

"Am I interrupting something?"

The two broke apart so fast that it sent water flying all over the counter top.

Bellamy threw down a rag as Clarke whipped around to start damage control with her mother. He didn't have to turn to know that Abigail Griffin was giving that same knowing smirk that she'd been directing at them non-stop since they'd arrived.

"Mm-hmm," the older woman hummed, stepping around the pair to pick up a tray of gingerbread cookies with iced features. "When you two are done bathing in my kitchen sink, why don't you join us in the living room? We're about to put in a Christmas movie. I'm thinking something romantic." She shot Bellamy a wink that left Clarke gaping after her mother's back as she receded to the Jahas.

"I can't believe her!" Clarke exclaimed.

"Tell me about it," Bellamy huffed. "She went for the gingerbread when there's a whole platter of sugar cookies just _waiting_ to be iced!"

He laughed, ducking when she threw the soaked dish towel in his direction.

They made quick work of cleaning up the rest of the kitchen, deciding to leave the dishes until after the movie. While they were working, it took all of Bellamy's self-control to keep his eyes off the blonde.

_A couple days ago she was nothing more than a co-worker. Get ahold of yourself, Blake._

But the sound of Clarke's laugher later on during the opening scene of the movie, and seeing her in the low lighting of the white lights on the tree that they had strung up together the night before... Bellamy could only shake his head.

_Blake, you're done for. _

* * *

**SO BELLAMY IS (FINALLY) COMING TO THE REALIZATION. But will Clarke? Will Bellamy still be a grinch? HOW many more days is it until Christmas? **

**Well lucky for you I can answer at least ONE of those questions... **

**27 days until christmas**

**Until next time...**


End file.
